Multiple Settings Sticks n Stones - a search

[quibble]

but words can never hurt me
. . .
welcome to the search​

• Basics
• Interests
• Plots
• Writing Samples

• 
  You can call me Quibble, I'm an elderly genderqueer they/them and I'm looking for a chill and fun person to write with. It has been several years since I spent any serious time writing and its time I come back to it. Ive been writing with friends forever, starting with a notebook passed in class, evolving to gaiaonline, then a private forum with the same core friend group for many years. I write third person present tense most often but I can write past tense if it bothers you. I tried discord with very little success, but I'm happy to plot and chat over discord for sure. I'm going to attempt relearning BBCode, which has certainly become more complicated since I last used it. The current formatting is modified from user CRrp. Although my BBCode is rusty, my mind is still writing even when I'm not typing so if you bear with me through some ugly posts, I'm sure I can tickle your literary delights.
  
  Caution : will swear
  ^{like... a lot, in character}
  
  
  long term or short term partner
  OOC chatting and plotting
  Hetero and LGBTQ+ characters
  romance, angst, drama
  mature themes or violence
  silly lighthearted stories
  
  
  no one under 24 please
  extremely dark content
  spicy mature content
• 
  
  I enjoy writing friendships and silly things as much as I enjoy writing angst and drama with a splash of romance. One of my favorite roleplays was just a goofy high school 'mystery' where the principle locked everyone in the auditorium to figure out who graffitied the homecoming sign. Although I'm a bit old to roleplay high school kids these days, I still love that kind of theme. Some of my faovirte stories are by Stephen King and he is the MASTER of that nostalgic childhood feeling with added spookiness. I write male and female characters, and I enjoy queer romance as well as hetero romance.
  
  
  Recent Media Binges :
  The Boys / Gen V
  Fall of the House of Usher
  Renfield
  Centaurworld
  Kipo
  Over the Garden Wall
  The Magicians
  Feel Good
  Stranger Things
  
  
  
  slice of life
  ​
  queer friends slowly falling for each other​
  coffee shop frequent fliers cross paths​
  
  
  supernatural
  superheroes/powers
  ​
  rivals to friends to lovers hero/villan​
  ex-hero on the run from the law​
  
  
  wild west
  modern
  futuristic
  
  
  strict gender roles
  canon character fandoms
  purely smut/gooey romance
  
  
• 
  > Which Witch is which?
  A modernized setting, a witch and their (humanized) familiar, who escaped the witch trials of the 1600s and are living somewhere quiet. Main points of conflict could be the witchfinder army hunting them down, or a stronger witch who wants to take out the competition. Could be romance, could just be a good old buddy comedy style roleplay. We could add extra OCs or NPCs to give the world a better feel.
  
  >The Boys are Back in Town
  Based on the amazon series The Boys (show only as I have very little knowledge of the graphic novel). We would have our own OCs in the setting of The Boys. The Seven could be a plot point, or we could go for Gen V "superhero college" style instead. I don't mind canon characters being in this setting but they shouldn't be important/main characters to our OCs.
  
  >Speakeasy Darlin'
  Set during prohibition, a speakeasy with a piano player and a singer who don't really know each other that well but have been working together for a few months. Located in a larger city, so possibility for conflict with many sides. Could be any pairing, but would be a slow burn romance with plenty of drama and angst for sure.
  
  
• 
  
  Spoiler: Therapy Circle Opener - self harm tw

  Violet hated mornings, hated sharing her feelings, and hated being in court-mandated group therapy. Try and kill yourself a few dozen times and suddenly the government is all interested in your business and pretends to care by forcing you into all these programs. Really, they should let her be and stop trying to mess her plans up. But here she is anyway, sitting in a chair in the morning clutching a styrofoam cup of coffee in her hands and staring directly across the room at something she hated even more than mornings, feelings, and group therapy.
  
  Him. That goddamn pirate fuck.
  
  He had been coming to the meetings for a few weeks now, had never said a word about himself and had somehow managed to ruffle the feathers of everyone in the group with his biting remarks. Especially Violet, who bristled at the very thought of him with his stupid eyepatch and his short dark hair and those stupid glasses he would wear even though it was clear he couldn't see a thing anyway. Violet hated him. She hated even more that he couldn't seem to get a sentence out of his stupid mouth without stuttering and pausing over every word.
  
  Violet found it impossible that she could hate someone more than she hated this guy and if someone had asked her she wouldn't have been able to tell them exactly why she hated him. She was just so absorbed in sending waves of hate towards him that she forgot to focus on why she was here in the first place.
  
  "Viola?"
  
  The voice snaps her out of it and she turns her attention to the man speaking. He's not unattractive but he had definitely snubbed all of Violet's attempts at cozying up to him and for that she held a bit of a grudge.
  
  "Its your turn, how has your week been?" he asks with a look of gentle concern on his face that makes her stomach flip.
  
  "You know," she says flippantly, trying to sound casual. It was much easier to be casual when you weren't torn between hating a pirate and trying to impress a social worker so you can get out of therapy. "I took a bottle of pills Monday, jumped in front of a speeding train Tuesday, and now its Friday and somehow I'm still here. How was your week, Frank?"
  
  
  Spoiler: Speakeasy Reply

  Malchiel gives the twin a quick lookover, having twice now forgotten who is who. Its to be expected, although now that he remembers the hat, the damned hat, he just nods to the strange twin. Of course he's here because he wants to be, he would never let anyone know his parents have kept him out of their speakeasy. It would be a disgrace, and they would probably start banning him from these as well. He doesn't want to stoop so low as to seek out the less fancy speakeasies, doesn't want to drink the swill they call Jamaican Ginger. He has, he will, but when he can avoid it he does. So when the glass of top shelf from Canada presents itself, he takes it in his hands with reverent awe.
  
  He eyes Oliver curiously, tilts his head a bit and gives a toothy grin and shakes his head at the senseless babble. If there is one thing Malchiel has learned in the speakeasies, it is how little the employees did care despite seeming to with their questions. He follows the hopeless twin's gaze, finds himself watching Jamie Sanders for a moment longer than he normally would. When he turns back and picks up his glass he spots the reason he's here.
  
  The reason he doesn't admit to anyone, because it isn't something good men talk about.
  Dudley stumbles into the party with a cigar and a positively radiant false grin. He slaps Mal on the back and Mal nearly spits out the drink. It sloshes in his hands and he sets the glass down to give Dudley a wicked grin.
  
  “Right,” he says, unable to keep the ridiculous grin from spreading over his face because he knows damn well that grin on Dudley's is fake. Any time he hears an Irishman on the street he finds himself turning to look and imagines for a moment it is this twin. And here, listening to it in the speakeasy through clouds of smoke and the sound of the music tinkling over it all, he cant stop that stupid grin.
  
  His name slides from Dudley's tongue in ways that he isn't sure can be completely innocent. He isn't sure enough, though, and he doesn't act on it. “That's me, Mr. Fun. A fuckin' riot. If I'd known, I wouldn't have stayed away the last week. Didn't think you missed me so bad.” He winks.
  
  Dudley slides behind the bar and Mal takes a moment to drink deeply, nearly finishing off his glass. If he keeps it at this rate, he'll be under the table in the time Dudley predicts. But Oliver is waxing poetic and Mal puts his hands over his ears.
  
  “Ah, make him shut up,” he says, and there's a faint, minute twinge of Irish coming through from his boyhood, a sound he thought he long ago squashed beneath the aristocracy of Detroit, Michigan. It comes out more around the twins and he hates it, feels like he's clinging to their voices and taking them for himself. Hates it more that his parents severed their ties to their heritage in order to, to what? Own a few speakeasies, work with the Purple Gang, have a finger in every pot of the Detroit governor’s chamber?
  
  Eventually, thank the skies above, Oliver stops and when Malchiel uncovers his ears to look up he spots Jamie making her way across the crowded room. Mal almost misses Dudley's question, his eyes are shifting so fast between Oliver and Jamie. There's something there and Mal is almost jealous of the ease with which it comes flowing out of Oliver like an unstopped tap. His ears flick back to the question, reform it in his mind and he turns his hazel eyes to Dudley.
  
  “Put it on my tab, Duds, I'm paying it all off tonight,” he announces. That stupid grin, that stupid, impossible grin is back and making his life difficult. He tries to get it under control, taps the bar with his fingers. “Its a celebration tonight, you know. So keep them coming.”
  
  
  Spoiler: Werewolf Zombie Apocalypse Reply

  Stand and fight, that's what he did. That might be why they were the way they were, he never really stopped to think about anything longer than the time it took to inhale. Sean at least had a grain of sense in his head. He stumbles over a dead body as it reaches up to grab him, gnarled fingers tangling in his pant leg. He shoots it point-blank in the face and follows after Sean helter-skelter. His boots slip as he runs, and before he loses it, he drops his pistol into the holster.
  
  He feels the change tingling across his body, up and down his spine, and he strives to control it for his purposes. Claws stretch out of his hands as light brown fuzz dusts itself over his skin in a ripple. He digs his claws into the building, trying to keep his boots on as he scales the side. Brick is easier to climb than wood-siding, and of course they couldn't be that lucky.
  
  Heaving himself over the top, he drops to the tar roof and pants, the change receeding along his body, his fingers returning to their normal size and the beginnings of his wolf-skin disappearing into his human one.
  
  "Never too old for a bit of fun," he pants, getting to his knees and looking over the side. The undead things are clawing at the sides, their moans acutely loud to his ears. Poking a finger in his ear, he wiggles it around. "Loud fuckers."
  
  He gets to his feet, stalking the perimeter of the building. The only way up were the stairs and the ladder on the side. A safe place, temporarily. Until the undead pile on top of each other and start flowing onto the roof in sheer numbers.
  
  "We should go down, see if there's food," he mentions. The horses are gone, maybe not forever but they wont be coming back soon and if the undead get rotting hands on them...

 

[quibble]

Might come back and clean up the BBCode as I learn more but for now please don’t judge too harshly haha

 

[quibble]

bumparooni

 

[quibble]

Bumper

 

[quibble]

A bump for the mid morning crowd